


Beneath The Heart Tree

by bemusedwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedwinter/pseuds/bemusedwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A restless Tyrion leaves the comfort of his bed to clear his head in the Godswood. He’s surprised to find Arya Stark wondering through the woods as well, and even more surprised by the company she’s keeping. He quickly realises he’s stumbled into something he was not meant to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath The Heart Tree

Hours had passed since they had blown out the last candles and hopped into bed, but Tyrion could not stop the thoughts churning in his mind. He laid there, listening to the soft breathing of his wife who lay next to him. Her long, red locks sprawled across her pillow, and half of his own (not that he minded). It was the smell of her hair, and her gentle breathing that never failed to lull him to sleep eventually.

But not tonight.

When he finally realised sleep was never going to come, he sat up. Careful not to wake his wife, he slipped out from underneath the covers, grabbed his robe, and left their chambers.

The halls and staircases were lit with an abundance of torches and candles that burned day and night. It was an idea Sansa had to help banish whatever ghosts or evil that remained in the castle. After what had happened, who could blame her? But there were no ghosts, just memories, and a lingering sadness that underlined the expressions of all the Northerners who passed through these halls.

When he reached the base of the staircase he rummaged his pocket for the key, only to find the door was already open. This door was only really used by the servants, who usually took great care making sure it was locked after the Stark’s retreated to their chambers in the evening. The door had been clearly unlocked from the inside, as the key was carelessly left in the lock.

Tyrion stepped outside. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness in the light of a full moon. He passed the servant’s quarters, which was bustling with noise and laughter. Someone was playing music, and Tyrion recognised a familiar pattering of feet. The sound almost seemed foreign to him. Dancing _,_ he thought, and tried to remember the last time he saw people dance. Not the kind of stoic, linear dance he was so used to seeing at parties in King’s Landing or Casterly Rock, but real dancing! He had a mind to peek through the window, but thought better of it. If there was anything that could dampen the spirits of merry Northerners, it was the face of a high-born Lannister peering in at them through a window.

He continued on, until eventually his little feet led him to the Godswood. He stopped and sat near the pool of water, not far from the ancient weirwood itself, and listened to the beauty that surrounded him. Leaves rustled, crickets chirped incessantly, frogs croaked, and insects hummed all around him. There was something very chaotic yet tranquil about it all. For the first time in a while, Tyrion felt his mind begin to empty. He was just about to lay back into the grass when he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

Arya Stark stepped out from behind the heart tree. She was wearing the same dress she had worn to dinner that evening, a style that had become very popular across Westeros since spring arrived. His dear wife had expressed a great distaste for the style, as it showed off an ample amount of cleavage, and skin around the belly. Sansa was conservative, she was married after all, but Arya was nothing like her older sister. She may have grown into a great beauty, but she still retained the same fiery disposition she had as a child. Whether it was her intention or not, she had succeeded in making him and his wife’s lives hell this past year. Arya refused to settle on a good and honourable match. Whenever they thought they had found her equal, she was swift in cutting their plans apart as quickly as possible. But not this time, Tyrion thought with a growing smirk. This time they had found the perfect match. And for the first time, he and his wife weren’t betting against one another.

Tyrion watched curiously as she walked around the great tree, her hand tracing all the curves and nooks in its trunk. Her feet were skilful in stepping over its great roots. He thought to stand and make his presence known, but what she did next froze him in his tracks. He watched, in utter confusion, as her fingers reached up and began to undo the lace that held her bodice together. He looked to the pool of water. An innocent swim, perhaps? But she took no notice of the water. She seemed transfixed on something else; something in the distance, hidden in the brush. There was something very calm and methodical about her demeanour, she unlaced each loop slowly, deliberately, one at a time. What a tease, Tyrion thought, before quickly reminding himself that this was his sister-in-law he was watching, a girl who was barely half his age.

Her bodice fell to the ground, exposing her pale breasts to the cool air. She then proceeded to untie her skirt, her eyes still focusing on the woods. Afraid the slightest sound or movement would alert her of his presence, Tyrion had forgotten how to breathe.

A man, who Tyrion could recognise from a mile away, stepped out of the darkness. It was Jon Snow. Well, that’s what they used to call him, Tyrion corrected himself. He still had trouble wrapping his head around the whole concept. He advanced towards her, tearing off his own clothes in the process. First his boots, then his belt, then his shirt, when finally, all that was left were his pants. He made quick work on them too. Clearly it hadn’t been his first time ripping off his pants in such a manner. It had taken Tyrion a few tries before he was able to master such a technique while standing, and he suddenly wondered just how seriously Jon had taken his vows with the Night’s Watch all those years ago.

Arya stopped. She had backed herself into a dead end. As soon as her bare back grazed against the bark of the heart tree, Jon was quick to trap her against it.

Their lips clashed, starved and hungry.

The teasing was clearly over, as Arya seemed to be in a rush now, grabbing and gnawing at his skin at every possible chance. Jon was the slow one. He took his time, slowing her into submission with his heady kisses and gentle caresses, savouring every little detail and movement their bodies made.

Tyrion had seen a lot of people fuck in front of him. Some deliberately. Some he happened upon and casually watched from a distance. Hell, sometimes he even joined in.

But this wasn’t fucking.

Tyrion was overcome with a sense of uneasiness, as if he was watching something sacred, something meant for the eyes of gods.

He looked to the trees.

The forest seemed to hum around him, louder than ever. By now, Jon and Arya had become obscured from his sight, as if the great weir tree itself was devouring them. Tyrion couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but he didn’t dare move from his position. His imagination did the rest of the work, which, for Tyrion, with the help of the sounds they were making, was just as realistic as the real thing.

The breeze carried their breathless sighs, which were becoming more frenzied and urgent by the minute. Tyrion shut his eyes and turned away, but the image of them rolling against each other burned beneath his lids.

He envied them.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made love like that, and wondered if he’d ever get the chance again. He thought of Tysha and Shae and wondered if they had loved him at all.

Sansa.

He loved Sansa.

But she was just like the others. She didn’t love him. She was kind to him, and respected him, as he did her, but she didn’t love him. Their marriage was nothing more than a business transaction; a contract for peace and wealth, not love.

He had always been sympathetic towards the Northerners cause. It had suddenly become clear to him what that sympathy had brought him: another loveless marriage, and probably more pain for the Northerners than he initially realised. A Stark and a Lannister? He’d thought it an amenable sacrifice, but the Northerners didn’t think so, even if it had saved their lives and their country from the wrath of the Dragon Queen.

Tyrion stepped back, carefully making his way back to the castle.

The two lovers were too wrapped up in each other to notice the little half-man lumbering through the bushes behind them. The crunch of leaves beneath his feet were drowned out by their rigorous moans, which for a minute, only seemed to grow louder the further and further away he walked.

The noise eventually faded by the time he reached the edge of the woods. The courtyard was empty. There was no one around. Even the servants who he had passed earlier had blown out their candles and headed to bed.

Tyrion had hoped the walk would clear his mind, but now it was racing faster than ever. 

Well, this was definitely not a part of the plan, he thought. Arya’s reluctance to marry was finally starting to make sense to him. He racked his memories for any signs or hints of the affair, determined to try and find out how long it had been going on right under their noses.

But he had seen and suspected nothing.

Images of his own brother and sister suddenly flashed into the forefront of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure whether he could do that all over again.

He suddenly felt an insatiable need to guzzle down a jug of strong, northern mead.

 

Sansa awoke to find him sitting by the window with a bottle in his hand. She wasn’t unaccustomed to such a scene, but three bottles at his feet this early in the morning told her something serious was bothering him.

“Tyrion?” his wife’s soothing voice cut through his whirring thoughts. “What is it?” she asked.

Tyrion didn’t know how to answer. Does he tell her that, once again, Arya Stark has foiled their marriage plans?

No.

She’ll want to know why, and he was uncertain how she would take the information.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Tyrion was so exhausted at this point, he couldn’t stop the words tumbling from his mouth. “It’s not going to work.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Sansa.

“The Baratheon boy, she’s not going to accept him.” He said.

Sansa eyed him suspiciously. She had the sudden impression he knew something she didn’t. But she was so certain, _they_ were so certain that he was the one. It was the first time they had wholly agreed on a suitor and since their discovery it seemed as if they could finally put Arya’s ‘great matter’ to bed. Despite her suspicions, she stood her ground. She had won this little game of theirs many times. Besides, she was still certain he was the one for Arya.

 “Ten gold dragons,” she said, stating her price before leaving their chambers.

Tyrion laughed to himself. It was the most she had ever bet with. Maybe this time, he thought, he might actually win this one.


End file.
